Watch It Go

It's dark. The only thing that made me know that I had reached my safe haven was the cool door knob. I smiled ever so slightly as I turned the metal item, door opening with a small click that was audible over the bickering of annoyances that my mind registered as my parents.

I reached up blindly groping for the bit of sting though the hung up clothes. I made a small huffing noise and bit my tongue, standing on my toes. After a minute or two, I felt the cloth and pulled. Light harshly lit my room, making the dark blue color more visible. I had never liked that room, I always wanted my brother's, it was simple. One black wall and red in rectangles over the doors and windows. Other than that it was white. I had also adored the wooden floor. It's much easier to wipe up red liquids without staining.

I blinked myself back into reality as I looked down into the closet that I called Haven. The closet was only about 2 and a half feet on each wall which made a very crowded space, but it felt nice sometimes. Against the wall on the left there was a pillow propped up and then another below it on the ground. The pillow on the ground too most of the room, but on the shelf was a radio, candle and some matches. On the wall was my name written in different inks, except one that was especially messy that made the name Elaine sound creepy. It was written in blood. My blood. I mechanically turned on the little radio that started to play the music on my ipod, "Where Is The Love" by Black Eyed Peas. I loved this song, it always made me a little sad, but somehow made me smile. This song wasn't like most of the other music that only about sex or about how wonderful the world is. This one actually showed that they weren't sitting in bliss looking at their big tv, watching a movie with their loved one next to them. It showed that they didn't like how the world was. It really was fantastic, plus, it drown out the sound of the annoying arguing in the house. I brushed a short strand of red hair out of my green eyes with pale fingers. I sat down on the pillow, closing the door by pulling on the gap at the bottom, then I stuffed the crack with a well worn and abused black towel.

For a few minutes I was lost in the music until it changed into "Lollipop" by MIKA and my thoughts became a whirl wind so I took a deep breath and lit the old candle that smelled of sugar cookies. I took another breath, lungs filling with warm sweet air. For a small moment, my thoughts were becoming clear, but they were scattered again when a scream pierced the air. It was Linda -my mum- and she was so angry that she couldn't put it into words. She had done this before, but it never failed to give me chills. I pulled my legs to my chest with my back firmly against the pillow.

I didn't dare turn up the radio again. I didn't even dare to move again, scared that they might hear the smallest thing and come in and my dad would kick and shout again. I wanted anything [i]but[/i] that. Part of me wanted to go out there, to make them stop yelling and screaming, but I knew that would only make it worse. They would act like they were getting along perfectly and only glare at eachother when I wasn't looking. To be truthful, that was worse.

"Are you kidding?! We can't afford that kind of shit! We already took her to a therapist when we first moved, then we had to get depression medication because suddenly, she can't think straight! What's next?!" My mum screamed. I clenched my eyes shut, hating that I was the reason for this argument.

"But then we wouldn't have to take care of her anymore! At a boarding school they'll have to deal with her, not us!" His words were slurred making me wince. He had been drinking. "In the end it'll be cheaper, plus, doc said her dosage of anxiety meds is going up. It's getting worse, they'll diagnose her and they'll get the meds!"

"Don't you get it? WE still have to pay!" She sounded exasperated, but at the time, I didn't care. They were trying to fid a way to get out of the house. I was 14, turning 15 in 3 months and they wanted me out. Silent tears fell from my almond shaped eyes, then rolled down my cheeks. Everything was muted at that point. My parents, my radio and everything else. An ache formed in my hands and it was so strong that I couldn't help but follow what it led me to. I reached under the pillow and touched a bit of cool metal that I knew well. A rueful grin grew on my face and I brought the small blade and pressed it to my skin, usually loving the feel of the metal against my fragile pale skin, but it wasn't nice today. Usually it was like a kiss. It's nice for a while before you're practically begging for a tongue action, tongue action being actually breaking the skin. But today, holding the blade there was like holding a fresh batch of cookies below a food fanatic's nose, but them being hand cuffed, unable to take the food. And this food fanatic hadn't eaten in weeks.

I slid the blade across my skin quickly, the pain welcomed on the scarred skin of my wrist. With the blade I had, the pain was instant, but the blood took a while. While I waited for the first cut to bleed, I slashed down my forearm about 4 inches so that the tissue could still cover them. After a little bit, my breathing was rigid, but I stated to feel better, my pains and sorrows flowing along with the crimson liquid in small rivers. A shaky laugh escaped my lips, the relief like finishing the food. Of course, food never held the comfort that it gave some of my other friends, it just made me feel disgusted with myself so usually I didn't eat lunch, or breakfast, or anything when I got home from school. Sometimes I would end up just working to hold off the hunger. Algebra did that well enough, that shit's impossible. The thoughts make me smile again as I started to clean up the mess, ignoring the slight dizziness.

Once it was all clean, I relaxed back for a few seconds then bandaged up my arm by putting a tissue against the cuts then wrapping my arm in an ace bandage. Outside of my room had calmed so I cautiously opened the closet door. The dark room greeted me, only brightened with the quickly dying, dull light bulb and the flickering light of the candle. I put my bloody tissues in the trash can under my desk then covered them with a few old school papers. I tucked my blade gently and lovingly into a tissue and snuggled it under the pillow on the floor then walked out of my room, legs moving in the free material of the black and grey plaid pants that I knew were my brother's but he was the same size as me so it didn't matter. A bright blue tanktop clung to my torso tightly but no one seemed to notice my entry. George -my dad- was watching the news, ignoring my mom as she mixed some vodka with a coke.

"Hey mum." I said meekly.

She looked like a deer in the headlights for a second before smiling, but it wasn't real. It was the I'm-smiling-because-I-was-told-to smile. "hi honey. How are you feeling" Her voice was too cheery and she sipped the coke.

"Just fine." I lied. "Are you OK?" I asked, wondering if I would see another bruise on her arms, wrist or cheek again in the morning.

"Wait, what happened to your arm?" She looked worried, but I knew she was more concerned on what parenting class she would have to go to if someone found out I cut... someone like my mum.

"I tripped on a skateboard in my room." I lied again.

"I told you to pick those up." She sighed, looking more annoyed than she was letting on with a forced/stamped on smile.

"I know. I guess I missed one." I lied for the third time.

"Oh, pick them up when you get back to your room, okay Eli?" She asked, though it was not a question, using the irritatingly happy voice that made me want to shake her until she came to her senses, but I didn't. "Do you still write?" My mum wanted to know. Now I regretted talking to her in the first place. I could have talked to my dad who would go on for an hour without asking me any questions. He was too drunk to care what I would say.

"Sometimes. I haven't in a while. " That was a lie too. Writing is my first choice that I have when I'm overwhelmed with something. I get out my feelings without anyone noticing. They just think, 'What an interesting style' or something along those lines. The only person I actually talk to is Stephanie and Anna. I didn't trust Nick. He wrote too, but when I would ask for his opinion on something I wrote, he would pick out every tiny detail that was off. He also wrote like most writers. I hated how everyone else wrote. In a world of fantasy, I could have wings. I could just say some weird worlds or noises and something impossible and amazing would happen. But I like actual life. Shit doesn't go down like Harry Potter or some shit, no matter how much you want it to. With the thoughts, my wrist throbbed but I ignored it and told my parents good night. I fell asleep quickly, but didn't dream.

At school the next day, people would ask what happened to my wrist. I told them all that I had fallen and they all bought it. It was such a common thing for me to fall, and it was also a common excuse that I used that it sounded natural. I looked around for one person in-particular at lunch but she never showed, only Nick did. As I mentioned earlier, I didn't like Nick for many reasons but I couldn't tell him that. It would hurt him and no matter what, I knew I couldn't hurt someone on purpose. He sat close to me so out feet were practically touching but I winced away when our knees brushed together and scooted as far away as I could, which was about a whole half inch. I cursed the small lunch rooms while I pretended to read a book and couldn't help but notice that he was watching me the whole time. I shuddered remembering the time when I made the mistake of wearing a shirt that was low in the back and falling asleep in the library. The feel of his finger sliding down my spine still freaks me out.

A person dropping their tray right by my foot brought my out of my thoughts and back to reality. The male apologized probably about four times before he ended up leaving. He was one of the popular kids at school so there were about 23 girls glaring at me when he smiled back at me. I sunk into the ground wanting to disappear. Nick asked me if I was okay and I just nodded and returned to my book. On the way back to class, I texted Anna. I needed you today. I sent, hoping that she would at least notice that I had lied. I wanted someone to look at me when I say I'm okay and tell me to tell the truth just once. Then I actually could, but they don't notice. No one notices. After school, she called me and I smiled, "Hello love." I hated how weak I sounded.

"Hey, what happened, I really wanted to be there for you, but I couldn't." She sounded like she meant it so I just smiled as best as I could.

"It's okay. I still love you more than life itself." I told her everything that happened and she was silent for a long while and I clenched my phone tighter in my hands, the still healing wounds on my wrists pulsing.

"I'm so sorry that happened to you. I wish I could help more, but I can't." I could tell that she was being so honest that it almost hurt her. Also that she was close to tears. "I'm a terrible girlfriend. I'm sorry, Eli."

"Impossible. I love you so much, Anna." We bid our farewells, but I still had so much to say. To apologize for. for cutting, for being depressed easily, for my anxiety, my sudden mood changes, how I can't accept help well, but all I could send in a text was, I'm sorry.


I hoped she understood.